


Therrel

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Agnu Ra Nutû [44]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Gender Identity, Siege of Minas Tirith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1722572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denethor draws a deep breath, his hand closing on the hilt of his sword, looking down at the army that stands poised to crash upon Minas Tirith like some wave upon the rocks of the shore. "We will sound the horns, then. Send a volley into their ranks."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Therrel

The ground before them is black with orcs, the walls of the Rammas Echor fallen despite the efforts of Faramir's Rangers and the regular troops under the command of Erchirion. Denethor feels the claws of despair that have slowly closed about him in the months since Faramir had first spoken of the newer dreams strengthen their grip for a moment before his younger son steps closer, shoulder brushing against Denethor's.

"We have done all we can to secure the aid of our allies, and we will hold until they can come." Faramir is ever the more hopeful of them, and it is Faramir's hope that keeps Denethor from falling utterly into despair and madness, though he can see that path from where he stands. "And there is still hope in the lands beyond our sight."

A subtle reminder that Boromir guards the backs of two hobbits, one who carries a terrible burden to its doom. That his older son yet cradles the fate of Men in his hands, and so long as they can hold out, can keep the eyes and armies of Mordor focused on their fair city, he might yet have a chance to save them all.

Denethor draws a deep breath, his hand closing on the hilt of his sword, looking down at the army that stands poised to crash upon Minas Tirith like some wave upon the rocks of the shore. "We will sound the horns, then. Send a volley into their ranks."

The trebuchets have stone enough to begin, and when the enemy send their own volleys in return, and broke buildings, there would be rubble to use along with the missiles lobbed at them.

He turns from wall, and with Faramir a step behind him, descends from the Citadel into the city proper. Denethor will not send his men to die for him where he fears to tread. No matter what the cost to him, Minas Tirith will stand, the rock upon which Mordor has ever broken its forces, until Rohan and the southern fiefs alike can come to their aid.

**Author's Note:**

> The title means "rock of all rocks". (Updated to go with the new dictionary.)


End file.
